


in bloom

by lilabut



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Mild Language, Past Child Abuse, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2018-12-30 22:31:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12118593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: All he wanted when he stepped into the shop were some flowers. He never expected to get so much more.





	1. part one

He remembers once as a little boy he brought his momma a bouquet of wildflowers. She'd loved it, had cradled him to her chest and wept tears he could not understand. _My sweet little boy,_ she'd called him, kissing his wispy hair.

 

They'd put them in one of the few vases they owned. Chipped and stained. But on the cluttered kitchen table it had almost looked pretty.

 

Until his father came home as the sun began to set. Shouting. Grabbing the vase and smashing it into the wall. The flowers lay torn on the grown, soaked, scattered amongst shards of porcelain.

 

That night, his momma screamed so loud that he hid under his bed, hands pressed against his ears, crying himself into a restless sleep.

 

 

 

After that, he never brought her flowers again. Didn't have the chance when she burned down to ashes a month later, leaving him behind.

 

Merle left the year after that to join the army.

 

And then it was just him and his father. All alone.

 

Until years later when school was done and finally he was free to be the one to leave this shithole of a town behind. He never looked back. Never returned.

 

Until now.

 

 

 

The house he's renting is quiet, sparsely furnished. A bit of a fixer upper but much larger than his tiny one bedroom apartment in the city.

 

A run-down porch, a small backyard that leads into the thick forest beyond. Creaky stairs and chipping paint. The closest neighbor is a mile away, nobody here to keep him company. Nobody to bother him.

 

It's peaceful in a way the city never was. Never could be.

 

But where the silence of his loneliness used to be filled with the sounds of cars and sirens and people, it's now deafening. Leaving too much room for his thoughts to wander.

 

 

 

He's been back here a week, but it feels like a lifetime already.

 

The old man is long dead. The shed he grew up in torn down. There's nowhere left for him to go to put old demons to rest.

 

No place except one. A place he hasn't seen in over twenty years.

 

* * *

 

Maybe he should have just gone to the damn garden center. But the parking lot had been bursting with cars, and he needed to head downtown anyway. The first flower shop he came across had been closed due to a family emergency, and that's how he finds himself here. In a tiny shop tucked away in an alley.

 

It's small and cozy in here. Brick walls covered in slowly fading white paint, worn wooden shelves lined up, filled with potted plants and flower arrangement. It smells like earth, damp and familiar, a hint of coffee mixed with it – there's a chalkboard sign telling him he can buy that here, too.

 

A little bell rings when he enters, the wooden floorboards creaking. He doesn't spot anyone inside and so he walks over the the far wall where old barrels are filled with all sorts of flowers, waiting to be turned into a bouquet.

 

_Can I help you?_

 

He startles at the sound of a friendly voice behind him, his heart skipping a beat. He turns, scolding himself for acting like a complete freak. It's just the woman who works here. Tall, slender, silver hair that's cropped short.

 

 _Eh- 'm fine,_ he stutters, clearing his throat. _Thanks._ He's quick to dismiss her offer to help, partially because he just wants to be left alone and partly because he doesn't want to bother her. This might be her job, but still. He doesn't want to burden her.

 

Her polite smile turns into something different. A half-smirk, playful almost. _You look a little lost,_ she says, tilting her head and he can't help but huff out something akin to a laugh at that.

 

 _Yeah, guess I am,_ he shrugs in defeat, eying the wide array of flowers without having even the slightest clue what would be appropriate.

 

The woman takes a step closer to him, wiping her hands on her dark gray apron. _What are you looking for?_ she asks, sounding cheerful and motivated. He assumes that's good, makes people buy more stuff. But it's intriguing and he finds himself taking in her profile for a moment too long. Sharp cheekbones and freckles dusting her pale skin. Pale blue eyes. Small pearls adorning her ears.

 

 _Flowers,_ he mutters in response, only half paying attention.

 

She turns to look at him, raising her brows. _Really?_ she asks dramatically, propping her hands against her hips. _Hmm... Not sure we're selling those._

 

He lifts his hand up to his forehead in embarrassment, looking down at his dirt-crusted boots. _Stop._

 

She does, but when he looks up again, her smile hasn't faded. _Who are they for?_

 

 _My mother,_ he replies a little too quickly.

 

 _Oh, that's sweet of you._ She looks genuinely pleased to hear it. _Do you know if there are any she prefers?_

 

All he can do is shrug. There weren't an awful lot of things his momma liked other than wine and cigarettes. Maybe when she was younger she knew how to enjoy other things. But he never got to meet _that_ woman.

 

 _Well, let's go with something safe then,_ the woman sighs, a hint of frustration mingling with amusement at his lack of knowledge. He's probably not the first guy to wander in here with nothing to offer but question marks in their eyes. She takes a few seconds to look over the flowers, brows creased in concentration before pointing at a barrel full of flowers bursting with petals. They look like blown up roses, he thinks. _How about these? They're simple, most people like them. Do you know her favorite color?_

 

 _Don't think she had-_ he starts, but once he realizes his choice of word he stops. He doesn’t need to bother her with his sad story about his dead mother. _She ain't got one,_ he replies instead. Hopefully quick enough for her not to notice, but there's a flicker of doubt on her face for just a bare second.

 

 _Well, then,_ she sighs. _How about pink? I could add some greens. A few daisies._ She sounds enthusiastic, almost like she can already picture it coming together in her head and it's the most intriguing thing. _How does that sound?_

 

He couldn't picture it even if he tried, has a moment of doubt that she's going to pick a bunch of daisies from the park outside like the girls used to do in school. But this is her job, so he should probably trust her. _Good, I guess,_ he says, trying not to sound like a complete asshole.

 

She nods happily, grabbing a few flowers and he quickly learns that daisies come in different sizes and these are not the ones kids make flower crowns out of. He follows her a few steps over to a well-worn work bench, watching as she assembles the bouquet with practiced ease.

 

It does look pretty when it's done. Colorful. Joyful. All things his mother never was.

 

 _Thanks,_ he mutters when she turns back to him, wearing that polite smile again.

 

 _No worries,_ she assures him, wrapping the bouquet in some brown paper and heading over to the till. They cost a damn fortune but he doesn’t say a word, pays mostly with loose change because his wallet is about to fall apart from the weight of it all.

 

 _There you go,_ she says then, holding out the bouquet. He reaches for it, his fingers briefly brushing against hers as he does. They both freeze for a moment, their eyes meeting. His heart skips a beat in his chest but then she quickly pulls her hand away. _Have a nice day._

 

* * *

 

His mother's grave is hidden away at the very back of the graveyard underneath an ancient willow. The stone is covered in moss and dirt, the name and dates beginning to fade. He ground is covered in fallen leafs, dried grass and woven undergrowth.

 

It hurts to see it like this.

 

She deserves more.

 

Putting down the bouquet, Daryl kneels on the dry ground. Tries to remember the sound of his mother's voice. The touch of her hand. But all those things have faded from his memory over the years. She's just a phantom now. Kept alive by a few random, meaningless and vague memories he has left of her.

 

Still, he makes a silent promise to take better care of her grave. To come back and tend to it.

 

In the breeze that rustles through the tree above, he can almost hear her voice.

 

_My sweet little boy._

 

* * *

 

He did not plan to come back here. But it's just a little over a week later that he passes the small shop again. Pots of flowers put up in front of the door, fairy lights shimmering in the large window.

 

The bells rings when he steps inside, the smell he enjoyed so much last time filling his lungs. _Hello,_ a familiar voice greets him, and the woman with the silver hair rounds the counter, smiling at him. _Did she like the flowers?_

 

 _Huh?_ he asks, confused about the question. Still lingering in the doorway he takes a step inside, careful not to knock over a small display of garden globes that are lined up against the wall.

 

 _Your mother,_ the woman explains, leaning her hip against the counter and crossing her arms in front of her chest. _Did she like them?_

 

She must be confusing him with someone else. There's just no way she'd still know who he is.

 

 _Ya remember that?_ he asks, hating that he sounds so damn surprised by it.

 

She nods, just a slight tilt of her head. _I have a good memory,_ she explains, but there's something else lingering behind her smile. Something he can't quite put a finger on. _So, did she?_

 

He sighs, feeling like an ass for lying about this in the first place. Slowly, he takes a few steps towards her, letting his eyes roam over an old bench that's loaded with tiny succulents. Or at least he thinks that's what they're called. _She- She would've. I guess._ He stops, looks up at her. _She's- eh. She's dead,_ he explains, tongue dry, and he instantly regrets saying it when the woman's eyes widen and she presses her fingers to her mouth.

 

_Oh my God, I am so sorry, I didn't know-_

 

 _'s all right,_ he interrupts her. Last thing he wanted was to make her feel like shit. _Been dead since I was a kid._ He says it matter-of-factly like that somehow makes things better. It does, in its own sick way. The grief he feels isn't fresh anymore.

 

Still, the woman looks like she just stepped on his toes and slapped him in the face. _Oh. So the flowers were-_

 

 _For her grave,_ he finishes for her with a stiff nod. He's starting to feel nervous, like a deer in the fucking headlights with her staring at him like this and this part of his own sad story presented like he's on stage performing some goddamned tragedy. Restlessly, his fingers drum against his thighs.

 

 _Really, I'm so sorry,_ the woman repeats, sounding genuinely concerned that she hurt him or was insensitive. He recoils at the thought of her breaking a sweat over him like this.

 

 _Y'ain't gotta be,_ he assures her, dismissively waving his hand before burying both of them in his pockets. _Couldn't have known. Was gonna buy some more flowers._

 

She somehow seems relieved to hear that, almost like she was scared he'd run off and never come back. It's a valid fear considering him and he knows that, nearly laughs at how accurate it is. But then she smiles, a little softer and a little gentler than before. _All right. We can do that._ She doesn't move over towards the flowers, though. Instead, she points up to the chalkboard on the wall. _Would you like some coffee?_

 

The scent of it is mouthwatering but his stomach still clenches nervously and so he shakes his head. _Thanks._

 

* * *

 

 _Have a nice day._ Her voice sounds bright and polite when he steps into the shop, the little bell greeting him. A man passes him, wearing a plaid shirt and holding a bouquet of red roses. He keeps his head down on the way out.

 

Daryl wipes some sweat off his forehead. It's a damn hot day, hotter than usual, and he feels like his shirt is glued to his back. It's pleasantly cool in here, though, and the change in temperature is a blessing.

 

He forgets all about that though when he sees her. Holding a few red roses, she looks up. He's probably imagining shit but he could bet her face lights up a little when she recognizes him. _Hey,_ she greets, and he has a feeling she's usually more formal with customers.

 

 _Hey,_ he mutters, feeling his cheeks warm up a little and he looks away from her, staring at the wall behind her instead.

 

 _Back for more?_ she asks and his eyes widen. He nearly splutters but she catches on quickly. _Flowers,_ she clarifies, a glint in her eyes that makes him shudder. _Back for more flowers?_

 

He clears his throat, wonders why on Earth he's too much of an idiot to just talk to her without fumbling and stumbling. It's really no wonder he hasn't gotten laid in over a decade. Not that he's thinking about her like that. He's not. At least, he's telling himself not to. _Yeah._ He keeps his answer short, afraid of making even more of a fool of himself.

 

She crosses her arms in front of her chest, let's that sweet smile linger as she tilts her head. _Let me guess. My choice?_

 

 _Probably better,_ he mutters. If he starts choosing, it's probably going to end up being a mess. She has an eye for this. Knows which colors and shapes work together. Can create something beautiful from scratch and watching her do it is soothing and mesmerizing. Maybe _she's_ the reason he's back here again. Not the flowers.

 

 _Probably,_ she chuckles. Putting the roses away, she starts to ghost her hands over some of the other flowers. She picks up a few pale pink ones and a couple of white ones, holding them up against each other. When she speaks again, it catches him off guard. _Are you new in town?_ she asks, looking over her shoulder. There's so much curiosity in her gaze that he doesn't instantly reply, forcing her to keep talking. _I've never seen you around before._

 

 _Sort of,_ he answers, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. _Grew up here. Moved away after high school,_ he explains, words sharp and quick.

 

Pleased with her choices, she makes her way over to the work bench. _What made you come back?_

 

It's a pretty personal question, he thinks. Not one he'd usually answer. But her voice works like a spell and he's talking before he can stop himself. _Work. 'm a mechanic,_ he explains when her lips part and he's sure she's about to ask him what he does for a living. _Took over the shop down on Quarry Lane._

 

Her forehead creases for a moment in deep thought as she arranges the flowers. _Mr. Horvath's shop?_

 

He nods, taking a few steps closer because it seems ridiculous to have this conversation with half the shop between them. _I went there a few times,_ she tells him, adding a few leaf-like things to his bouquet. _I was so sorry when I heard about his wife. Do you know each other?_

 

Dale's wife Irma had passed away from cancer earlier this year. She'd been a kind, warm woman. Always wearing a smile. Caring for others so purely.

 

 _Used to work there after school,_ Daryl explains. He has fond memories of his time spent at the shop – some of the only good memories he has of growing up here. _During summers. That sorta thing._ Dale had given him the opportunity to learn in his shop, to help out where he could and gather as much knowledge as possible. He'd spent every afternoon there, every day during the summer.

 

It's thanks to Dale he decided to become a mechanic. To pass up Merle's offer to come and live with him. In many ways, he's pretty sure he owes Dale his life. So, when he'd called and asked if he'd be interested to take over the shop, he couldn't decline. Even if it meant coming back here.

 

The woman pulls him out of his thoughts when she's suddenly standing right in front of him, her blue eyes looking up at him. Sparkling like the first peak of blue sky between the clouds. _Here,_ she says, holding out the bouquet for him.

 

 _Pretty,_ he murmurs, and he realizes his mistake immediately when her eyes widen a little and her pink lips part in surprise. He's an idiot. Staring at her like an absolute freak. _The flowers,_ he quickly clarifies, but somehow that only makes him sound like more of a jerk. _I mean- ya pretty, too. Shit._ He ducks his head, having half the mind to just dump the damn flowers and get out of here. _Forget it._

 

She surprises him then. _Thank you,_ she says in a soft voice, almost fragile, and he watches her as she heads to the till. For some reason, she doesn't seem to be put off at all.

 

 _Coffee today?_ she asks as he pulls out his wallet, a hopeful smile on her face.

 

 _Nah, thanks,_ he declines. Part of him is tempted to accept her offer if only to spend a few more minutes here. But the larger part feels humiliated enough for one day and is eager to get out of here.

 

She frowns a little, but it barely lasts a second.

 

 _Here._ He hands her the money and waits for his change, taking a second to smell the flowers. Sweet and breezy. A perfect contrast to this hot day.

 

When he has stuffed his wallet back into his back pocket he offers her an awkward not, quickly turning around to head back out into the heat.

 

 _Hey!_ she calls when he's just about to open the door, his hand hovering over the brass knob. He turns to look at her, seeing a ray of sunlight falling in through the slanted windows behind the counter. Dust dances in the light like shimmering stars and it falls on her pale face, making her skin glow. _I'm Carol._

 

It takes him a moment to process what she said. He doesn't understand why she'd tell him that. But he cherishes the knowledge all the same. Carol. It suits her.

 

 _Daryl,_ he tells her, suddenly wishing he had a more exciting name. Anything to make him more interesting than he really is.

 

But Carol smiles all the same, and he catches it again, that miniscule moment where her face seems to light up. _Have a nice day, Daryl._


	2. part two

_What do you think?_ she asks, holding out the bouquet bursting with purple and white flowers. He doesn't really care. Flowers are beautiful in their own way he guesses, but they don't knock him off his feet.

 

_'s good,_ he says anyway, and his lips twitch with the urge to smile when her face lights up at his compliment. She looks elated, really. Enthusiastically, she starts to wrap the bouquet in the familiar brown paper.

 

_Ya workin' here all alone?_ he asks completely out of the blue, eying the empty store. He has wondered about this before, never seeing anyone else working here. But he also instantly realizes how that question might have made him sound. _Shit, didn't mean it ta sound like that,_ he quickly adds, fumbling for the right words. _Ain't tryin' ta rob ya or anythin'._

 

Carol smiles. Maybe at his words, maybe at the way he tries to make himself sound less creepy. It doesn't matter. Her nose crinkles and her eyes sparkle and he can't look away.

 

_You'd be disappointed, let me tell you that,_ she quips, wrapping some string around the bouquet to hold the paper together. _Some days I'm here alone. Mrs. Greene is here a few times a week,_ she explains, answering his question even though she has no reason to. _She owns the shop. And Michonne is here most days, but she mostly does paper work in the back._

 

She points at the green door behind the counter. Always closed.

 

_Sounds boring,_ he says, trying to imagine how dull it must be to do the paper work for such a tiny flower shop. He's usually half asleep trying to manage the papers for his shop, and he's only been doing it less than a month.

 

_It is,_ she agrees. Gently, she puts the flowers down on the counter, pressing her palms against the worn wood. _Some coffee?_

 

He can't bite back a grin. _Y'always gonna ask me that?_

 

She huffs, crossing her arms in front of her chest. _It's my job,_ she says matter-of-factly, but then she tilts her head, eyes narrowing and fuck if that doesn't send a spark of heat crackling down his spine. _One of these days, you'll say yes,_ she says in a much lower voice and it makes him wonder if she has any idea what she's doing.

 

_Ya think so?_ he asks, his own voice breaking.

 

For a moment, she's still. Then, barely audible, she replies. _I know._

 

* * *

 

She's wearing lipstick today. At least he's pretty sure she is because her lips seem to be tinted a light shade of red. Like she ate a bowl of strawberries. They look soft and plump and he wonders if they taste as sweet as they-

 

Maybe you should think about planting something on the grave, Carol suggests, pulling him out of his pathetic thoughts and he's grateful for it. She doesn't deserve his mind to spiral into the gutter. _Would be cheaper._

 

She smiles at him over her shoulder as she assembles the new bouquet, lots of green leafs and white flowers.

 

_I guess,_ he shrugs, elbow pressed against the counter as he nervously shifts his weight from boot to boot. _Got any ideas?_

 

She purses her lips, almost absent-mindedly wrapping his bouquet. _How about heather?_ she suggests, quickly noticing his clueless expression and pointing at a row of pots by the far wall. _Easy to maintain. And if you get a hardy type it'll last into the winter, too._

 

They look decent enough. He's cleaned up the grave as best as he could, but even with the fresh flowers he puts on it every Friday it still looks a little sad compared to the others. Planting something might be a big improvement. _Gonna think about it,_ he murmurs, picking at a ridge in the countertop. T _hink she'd prefer the flowers,_ he adds, but it's a lie.

 

He just doesn't want an excuse to stop coming here every week.

 

Carol turns to him, the flowers held up against her chest and the pale petals look just as soft as the skin on her forearms, sleeves rolled up, exposing her wrists. There's a curious look on her face, and she takes a deep breath before speaking.

 

_How old were you when she-_ She stops herself, shaking her head. _I'm sorry, it's none of my business._

 

She busies herself with the till, looking a little embarrassed.

 

_Nine,_ he replies, the word sour on his tongue. Carol looks up, all gentleness and kindness wrapped in beauty. _Was a long time ago,_ he mutters, feeling the phantom pain of long forgotten grief throbbing in his veins. _Barely remember 'er._

 

* * *

 

_I was thinking maybe we could go wit_ _h_ _Chrysanthemum_ _today,_ Carol suggests, taking a sip of coffee from a huge mug. She has her hands curled around it like it's cold outside and she's seeking warmth when in reality, summer is relentless at the moment.

 

In here, though, it always feels a little like a different world.

 

_Which ones are that?_ he asks, thinking that the name sounds familiar but he can't be sure.

 

These, Carol explains, pointing at a barrel full of lush looking flowers in all sorts of colors.

 

He feels his brows disappearing underneath his bangs. _Look fancy as shit._

 

Carol chuckles, putting down her mug and pulling a few flowers from the barrel. _And that's a bad thing?_

 

_Guess not,_ he shrugs, taking a few steps closer to take a better look at the flowers. They're pretty and vibrant. He thinks his momma might have liked them.

 

It's only when Carol shifts a little that he notices he's standing barely two feet away from her and when he looks up, her eyes are wide with curiosity.

 

This close, she looks even more beautiful. All the freckles dusted across her soft-looking skin are mesmerizing. And the way her lips part on a shuddering exhale feels like a magnetic pull. Ever so slowly, he feels his body leaning into hers.

 

There's something shimmering on her chin, catching the sunlight and sparkling like tiny jewels.

 

_Ya got-eh..._ He moves before he has time to question what he's doing. Reaches out and gently brushes the dust away with the pad of his thumb. _Got something there._

 

A shiver wrecks her body at his touch but she doesn't pull away. Looks him straight in the eyes. He lingers, fingertip hovering above her skin, tingling.

 

Thank you, she breathes, and his heart starts racing when her eyes flicker down to his lips. It would be easy to lean in, breech that last bit of space and kiss her. Gentle. Not rushed.

 

But that ain't him.

 

And it doesn't seem to be her either because the moment only lasts a second before she squeezes her eyes shut and sighs. Taking a small step back.

 

It's better this way. He'd only fuck things up. She's probably not even interested in him that way - why would she be? And he doesn't do this. Intimacy. Relationships. None of it. She deserves more than what he's capable of.

 

Lost in thought, he looks down at his finger. _Sugar,_ he points out, dusting it off on his pants.

 

Carol seems grateful that he ended the silence, nodding and almost self-consciously brushing her fingers over her chin.

 

_I ate a donut,_ she explains, a dreamy expression in her eyes. _From that bakery down the road, do you know it?_

 

He might have grown up here but this town has changed a lot since he moved away and he almost feels like a stranger. Usually, he probably would have missed any kind of bakery or cafe. But he thinks he knows what she is talking about. _That blue house?_ he asks, recalling passing it a few times on his way here.

 

White shutters and white iron woven chairs and tables out front. Pots of flowers hanging from the wall. Something mystical and whimsical about it.

 

_Yes,_ she confirms with an enthusiastic nod. _They have the best things. I swear, I could eat there every day._

 

She's smiling in an almost nostalgic way, a hint of sadness to her voice that he doesn't understand and which seems out of place.

 

_Why don't ya?_ he asks, watching as she ghosts her fingers over the flower petals. She just sighs, looking away.

 

The only reply he gets is a shrug as she heads towards the workbench.

 

* * *

 

It was a stupid idea. Stupid. He's an idiot if ever there was one and his hand shakes as he pushes open the door to the flower shop. The other clutches a paper bag from the bakery down the road, filled with half a dozen different baked goods.

 

He hadn't known exactly what she liked other than the donuts she mentioned last time, so he'd gotten a little bit everything.

 

Only, why would she want to each fucking donuts with him? He's being a creep and he has half the mind to toss the bag into a nearby bin but what a waste of money would that be.

 

Maybe she won't notice.

 

The bell rings in its familiar tune as he steps inside, greeted by the comforting scent of damp earth and fresh coffee.

 

Instantly, his eyes scan the store for Carol, but she's nowhere to be seen. Instead, a lady with a long brown braid and a kind smile greets him.

 

_Hello, may I help you?_ she asks, perfectly polite, hands folded in front of her. She looks familiar. This must be Mrs Greene, the woman Carol said owns this place. He's seen her before, long ago. She's the vet's wife, and he'd made a delivery to their farm every now and then to make some more money as a teenager.

 

She doesn't seem to recognize him and he's glad. They'd never been unkind to him, she and her husband, but his last name ain't exactly popular around here. Even after all this time.

 

He doesn't dwell on that worry for long, though. Instead, he wonders why Carol isn't here today. She's been here ever Saturday for the last two months.

 

Maybe she just has the day off. God knows she deserves it. But maybe... What if something bad happened?

 

Mrs Greene eyes him with growing confusion and he realizes he's been quiet for far too long.

 

_'m fine,_ he mutters, looking around the shop and spotting the small row of premade bouquets. _Just... gonna take one._ He grabs the first one he can reach, yellow and orange and he can tell Carol didn't make it.

 

But he marches over to the till anyway.

 

Of course, Mrs Greene says, and for a moment she eyes him like maybe she _does_ remember the skinny, beat up kid who showed up at her house a few times during one blistering summer. _Would you like some coffee?_

 

_No, thanks,_ he declines, fumbling for his wallet and passing her the money. _Here._

 

_Thank you._

 

He turns around before she even has time to give him his change, heading for the door.  _Have a lovely weekend,_ she calls after him.

 

He only feels dread and disappointment when he steps outside into the alley, the bag of baked goods in his hand feeling like it weighs a damn ton.

 

* * *

 

Something is different. He can tell as soon as he steps into the shop.

 

She's watering some of the large potted plants in the center of the shop, startling a little at the sound of the bell.

 

But she doesn't turn around.

 

_Hey,_ he greets nervously, the door closing with a dull thud behind him.

 

Carol freezes for a moment, her shoulders tense. _Oh,_ she gasps softly before turning around. _Hello._ It sounds stiff and unlike her. Somehow far, far away.

 

For a moment, he struggles to come up with anything to say and it only proves to him what he already knew. They ain't nothing to each other and he shouldn't daydream that they are.

 

He's making it all awkward and probably scaring her off.

 

_Had some time off last week?_ he asks, desperate to fill the silence that is suddenly so tense.

 

_Yes,_ she replies much too quickly, even before he has finished the question. It's a lie, that's plain to see. And she realizes immediately that she's been caught. With a soft sigh she looks down at her feet. _No. Well-_

 

He takes a step closer then and that's when he sees it. The fading bruise around her eye. Blue and green splotches from her cheekbone up to her brow. Angry and merciless and he feels sick.

 

_Y'all right?_ he asks, taking another step closer as he suppresses his panic. All the bad memories, too, of which he has so many.

 

_I am,_ she assures him weakly, putting down the watering can. _I just... Had a little accident. Fell down the stairs._

 

She doesn't look at him even once as she offers this explanation. Something he has heard before.

 

His mother had had many such accidents. Ran into a lot of doors and fell down a lot of stairs.

 

_The stairs?_ he asks, voice full of doubt and he realizes quickly that he made a mistake. It's not his place to question her like this. To doubt her story.

 

For all he knows, she really did fall down the stairs. It happens. He needs to stop letting his own shitty experience cloud his judgment. And he really needs to stop pestering her.

 

_Yes,_ she insists stiffly, lips pursed. _Sunflowers today?_ It's like she's a different person. Cold and distant. Skittish almost in the way she backs away from him towards the flowers. She moves differently too, her right side stiff and her steps weighed down.

 

_Sure,_ he mutters, not sure what hurts him more. The distance he feels or knowing she's clearly in pain.

 

Silently, he watches her bind a bouquet. There's little joy to the way she does it but it turns out beautiful all he same. A bittersweet kind of beautiful.

 

His eyes flicker up to the chalkboard with all the coffees they offer and he thinks maybe today he should prove her right. Order one. Maybe that'll put a smile on her face.

 

But he's an idiot for thinking that. For thinking he could be the reason for anyone to smile.

 

_Thought I might try some of that co-_ he starts, but she barley listens to him. Wraps the bouquet in paper and stares at it with distant eyes. _Never mind,_ he mutters, feeling more hurt than he has in a long time. It's ridiculous and unfounded but it's the sting of rejection he feels piercing his heart. Something he's been dreading all his life. From his father to his momma to his brother to the other kids at school. And now her.

 

She takes his money wordlessly, handing him his change. Something haunts her, it's so easy to see and he wishes he could somehow make her feel better.

 

But that ain't his task here. She ain't his damn problem after all, he should have just stuck with that instead of wondering and hoping that she might be different. That she might see something in him that nobody else ever has. The way he sees her differently than he's ever seen anyone else.

 

_See ya,_ he mutters half-heartedly when he takes the bouquet. He's out the door before she can throw any polite goodbye his way, the bell ringing angrily.

 

But he has no intention of coming back here.


	3. part three

**three months later.**

 

Two big, brown eyes are staring up at him. All innocent and charming. And full of judgment. _All right, all right, I ain't lookin',_ he grumbles, turning away from the small dog currently silently telling him he's a pervert.

 

_Little princess,_ he mutters as he looks in the opposite direction, waiting for her to do her business.

 

The October air is cool, a slight breeze rustling the trees. Vibrantly colored leafs are falling to the ground, reds and yellows cloaking the paths and lawns. It's crisp, the sky above powder blue. A perfect day, and he's surprised the park isn't more busy.

 

He'd prefer taking the dog out into the woods or into the fields behind his house, but he had to head back to work today and this is the closest he can get without packing her up into the car again.

 

Something nuzzles his leg, and he looks down. _Ya done?_ he asks, earning himself an excited wiggle with her tail that only intensifies when he leans down to pet her head and her black, floppy ears. _Good girl._

 

He's pretty sure getting this dog was the best decision of his life. All his life, he'd dreamed of one, but it never felt right while he lived in the city. Here, though... Here he has the freedom and the space.

 

With a sigh, he fishes a plastic bag out of his pocket.

 

_Sit,_ he commands, having to say it twice more before she actually complies instead of just curiously tilting her head. She gulps down the treat he gives her, sniffing his hand for more. _Stay._

 

Kneeling down, he puts the end of the leash under his knee, taking care of his least favorite part about having a dog. But he barely has time to reach out before the leash under his knee is tucked away, nearly sending him tumbling backwards.

 

As he regains his balance, he panics, realizing the leash is gone when all he feels under him are rustling leafs. _Cleo!_ he calls, looking around frantically and spotting the little one excitedly bouncing off toward a woman heading down the path. Quick on his feet, Daryl runs after her. Cleo is harmless but playful and easily excited, and while most people tend to find her sugar sweet, he's worried that this time, they might encounter someone not so courteous.

 

He's not fast enough, though, and the woman squeals a little when Cleo all but races into her, all wiggling tail and bouncing paws.

 

_What did I-_ he begins to scold when he reaches them, but his words turn to ash on his tongue when he properly looks at the woman. _Oh._

 

Her blue eyes sparkle in the autumn sun, cheeks slightly flushed from the cold air. _Daryl?_

 

He hasn't seen her in three months. Hadn't dared to go back to the flower shop after the debacle of his last visit. It wasn't even just because of the rejection he'd felt from her. After, when he lay awake at night and replayed their conversation in a loop in his head, he'd started to blame himself for being such an asshole and pushing her the way he did.

 

Her business wasn't any of his, and he shouldn't have tried to make it his own.

 

For a moment, they're just standing it the middle of the gravel path, both equally surprised to see each other. After a few seconds of silence, Daryl comes to his senses again, grabbing the leash off the ground and tugging an overly enthusiastic Cleo away from Carol.

 

_Sorry 'bout that,_ he mutters, feeling his cheeks flush a little and looking down at his dusty boots.

 

_It's all right,_ Carol reassures him, and then she's kneeling down, smiling brightly at the dog. _Hey,_ she greets with a high, gentle voice. _Who are you?_

 

_Cleo,_ he explains, unable to look away from Carol's soft expression and sweet smile. Slowly, she lifts her hand, hovering in the air.

 

_Can I?_

 

He shrugs, eases his grip on the leash enough for Cleo to meet Carol halfway. _Sure._

 

It's all the permission Carol needed and a second later she's running her hands through Cleo's soft, white fur, tracing her black ears and head, laughing when the little one buries her face in Carol's stomach. _You're so sweet,_ she coos, struggling to keep her balance as she's all but being attacked.

 

Daryl can't help but grin. _She likes ya._ Carol looks up at him with a smile so genuine that it makes his stomach flutter. He doesn't tell her that Cleo likes almost everyone just as long as they shower her with attention. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't get the words out. Not now.

 

Carol's smile falters a little then, the joy of it fading ever so slightly. _I haven't seen you in a while,_ she says quietly, eying him nervously. _How are you?_

 

He shrugs. This isn't the type of question that's easily answered. _'m good,_ he replies eventually. It's not a lie. But it never really feels like the truth either. _Busy._ Carol nods, and he wonders of she even remembers where he works – to be honest, he's surprised she even remembered him at all. _You?_ he asks cautiously, hoping he's not overstepping a line again here.

 

_I'm fine._ She doesn't look at him when she replies, instead smiling down at Cleo, and maybe he's just being pessimistic again but it seems like a lie. _It's quiet at the shop._

 

_Lunch break?_

 

_Yes,_ she nods. It's only then that Daryl realizes how tense she looks. Like a live wire. _But I need to get back._ With a sigh, she gives Cleo one last ruffle behind the ears. _Goodbye, Cleo._

 

Slowly, she raises back to her feet, and it isn't hard to miss when she takes a nervous look around. Like she feels watched. Followed. But there is nobody around except for an elderly couple walking a few yards away and some kids making an awful lot of noise in the nearby playground. Eventually, her eyes settle back on him. _It was nice seeing you again,_ she almost whispers, arms crossed protectively in front of her chest.

 

_Yeah,_ he breathes in reply. All this time, he'd tried to talk himself into forgetting about her and how she made him feel but now, seeing her again, it's like he never even succeeded at all. It's still there, buzzing warm and soft in the pit of his stomach.

 

He watches her walk away with a heavy feeling in his heart as Cleo bounces restlessly by his side.

 

* * *

 

Her head whips around the moment he pushes open the door, hearing the familiar ring of the bell for the first time in months. One of those polite smiles is etched onto her face, and she's holding a small pumpkin in her arms. _Good mor- Oh._ The greeting turns into a small gasp and her eyes widen a little. Her smile softens into something very different. _Hey._ She sounds a little breathless and surprised in a way that makes his heart skip a beat.

 

He's weak. Such a damn idiot. But after running into her last week, all his thoughts had been of her.

 

_Hey,_ he mutters in response, nudging the toe of his boot against the worn floor. Cleo tugs at her leash, tail wiggling excitedly as she spots Carol. _Can she eh- can she come in?_ he asks, nodding down at the restless dog.

 

Carol's eyes wander down to the dog, her whole face beaming. _Of course,_ she says, and even as he moves further into the shop she meets them halfway, sinking to her knees. _Hello, Cleo,_ she greets, laughing when the little one tackles her and licks her neck, all eagerness and joy.

 

Daryl snorts, but he can't deny the warm flutter he feels watching the two of them together. _Got 'er for huntin',_ he explains as Carol ruffles Cleo’s fur. _She thinks she's a lapdog, though._

 

She'll be much bigger when she's older, strong, quick and smart but he has a fleeting suspicion she'll never be much use out in the wild. Not when her favorite thing is to fall asleep curled around him in bed and hold him down there.

 

_You hunt?_ Carol asks, looking up. She doesn't seem put off by it. Rather, there's curiosity in her gaze that makes him squirm a little.

 

_Sometimes,_ he shrugs. It's something his old man taught him, one of the only useful things the bastard ever did in his life. Out in the woods, he feels safe and free. It used to be his sanctuary when things at home got really bad and it never stopped being that for him. When he lived in the city, what he craved the most was the quiet serenity of the woods. The smells. The sounds.

 

He tears himself out of his thoughts, realizing he should probably get on with it and actually buy some shit - otherwise Carol might figure out the only reason he's here is because of her. _I was-_ he starts, but Carol interrupts him quickly.

 

_I'm sorry._ The smile on her face is gone, replaced by a somber expression, eyes cast downwards.

 

_What?_ he asks, confused by her words and uncomfortable seeing her so... sad. There's no other word for it. It's clinging to her like a second skin all of a sudden and he wishes he could just reach out and brush it away.

 

_I'm sorry that I was rude,_ she explains, rising back onto her feet as Cleo loses interest and begins to sniff a display of various pumpkins in different sizes. _When you were here last time. That wasn't-_ Her eyes meet his then, shimmering with tears that she has no reason to shed. _I'm sorry._

 

She'd hurt him, no doubt about that. But she ain't got a reason to apologize. He'd pushed her when he had no right to. They aren't anything to each other. Not really.

 

_'s all right,_ he tries to reassure her, his damn voice breaking because _fuck_ , he doesn't ever want to be the reason for her to look so sad and guilty.

 

The smile she offers him then is thin-lipped and humorless, never reaching her marvelous eyes.

 

_No,_ she whispers, shaking her head softly. _It's not._

 

He wants to reach out and touch her so badly. Take her hand. Cup her cheek. Wrap his arms around her. It's by far the scariest thing he's ever felt, and he knows fear better than most. All his life, he has shied away from physical contact. Kept a safe distance between himself and the rest of the world. Never felt the urge for touch and closeness the way he feels now.

 

But he holds back. Knows it's not right. _Y'ain't gotta worry 'bout it,_ he says instead and even though she nods, he knows that even his forgiveness isn't enough for her. She can't accept it.

 

_Thank you,_ she murmurs, sighing deeply. But just as quickly as the sadness had appeared it's gone. She claps her hand, her face suddenly bright and her smile wide. _So, how can I help?_

 

It makes him wonder which mask that she channels so easily is the true _her_.

 

* * *

 

It's remarkable how easy it is to fall back into the old routine. He's back here once a week the way it was before, and around her, he feels good.

 

Nobody has ever looked at him or talked to him the way she does and he hardly knows what to make of it. Only knows he's a fool for taking such a risk.

 

Risk being hurt again. Risk hurting her because he's fumbling in the dark here.

 

_I can't believe how sweet she is,_ Carol swoons, pressing a kiss to Cleo’s head. _Just look at her._

 

He only has eyes for Carol. Earrings dangling from her ears, lips a rich shade of pink, cheeks glowing. The sunlight filtering in from outside catches in the hollows of her collarbones, illuminating all the freckles dusted across her skin.

 

Shit. He needs to get a grip.

 

_Been lookin' at 'er since four in the damn mornin',_ he grumbles instead, biting back a yawn just on cue. His hands press into the counter to support his weight, the worn wood warm to the touch. _Worse than a baby, I'm tellin' ya._

 

Carol just smiles, nuzzling her nose against Cleo's. _It's worth it,_ she breathes, so quietly he can hardly hear her, but enough for him to detect the melancholy in her voice.

 

_Huh?_

 

She looks up quickly, almost like he pulled her out of a trance. _Nothing,_ she dismisses his question, standing back up and wiping her hands against her apron. _What did you have in mind today?_

 

He eyes the large display of Halloween decorations behind Carol with raised brows. _No Jack o' Lantern,_ he says, taking a step past her to get a better look at them.

 

_That might be inappropriate,_ Carol chuckles, turning around. She's too close, he notices instantly. Her shoulder brushing his arm and she notices too. Freezes.

 

_Little bit,_ he chokes, one last attempt to save this moment and keep their conversation alive but he can't. Not when he feels the flutter of her fingers against his wrist. Delicate like the brush of a butterfly’s wings. Barely there. But it singes his skin.

 

_Carol-_ he chokes, breathing labored as his eyes flicker down to her lips, parted slightly, her own eyes dark. Her fingers find his palm then, brushing over the calloused skin and sending a shiver down his spine.

 

His own fingers itch, twitching until hers fall into place in between his own. Hovering there like the phantom of a touch, skin barely kissing.

 

Slowly, he leans in, heart thundering. More and more when she does the same, rises up onto the tips of her toes and she's so close now. Close enough for him to see the way her lashes curl and her tongue darts out to dampen her lips.

 

The door opening and the bell ringing drives them apart with simultaneous gasps and Daryl grips the edge of the shelf in a death grip, gulping down much needed air.

 

_Hello,_ Carol greets the elderly woman who stepped inside, oblivious to what she just prevented. _Can I help you with anything?_

 

She sounds a little breathless herself, her cheeks flushed and he doesn't miss the way she avoids looking at him when she walks over to help the woman with her flowers of choice.

 

He excuses himself with a silent nod in her direction, tugging an unwilling Cleo after him as he heads outside.

 

_Fuck._

 

Did he ruin it all again?

 

* * *

 

He almost doesn't come back the next week. Too afraid of facing her rejection again. He can't take it a second time.

 

But in the end, his feet carry him to the small alley without much prompting from him, Cleo guiding the way on insistent feet.

 

The bell rings almost ominously, only adding to he nervousness he already feels.

 

Carol is standing behind the counter, sorting through some receipts when she looks up. _You're early today,_ she points out, looking up at the heavy iron clock on the brick wall.

 

He _is_ early. Had assumed it would take him a few rounds around the block to gather enough courage to come here. He's not going to tell her that, though. _Was in the area,_ he says instead, shrugging his shoulders.

 

Nervously, he eyes her, waiting for a reaction. For the same tension he saw months ago. For any sign that what happened last time bothers her.

 

Only nothing actually happened and maybe he's an idiot for assuming that anything would have happened or that it means a damn thing.

 

Carol surely doesn't seem to dwell on it. Instead, she puts down the receipts and rounds the counter, kneeling down to greet a yelping Cleo.

 

_Hello, who’s a good girl?_ she coos, smiling brightly at the dog and petting her soft fur.

 

For a little while, Daryl just watches her. It's more than enough, really. To see her happy and at ease.

 

Eventually, though, she stands up, taking a look out the large window. _It's a bit cold for flowers today. They won't last,_ she explains with a mournful expression. During the last two days, the weather had cooled down significantly, making it clear that summer was long over.

 

_Yeah._ He'd assumed as much, and as he lay awake in bed night after night this last week, he had plenty of time to come up with a different excuse to still go to the shop. _Thought I'd get something for the house._

 

Carol nods, ruffling Cleo’s ears one last time as the little one nuzzles her leg. _Sure. What-_

 

She's interrupted when the door to the back of the shop opens with a creak. The tall woman peeking into the shop looks preoccupied, speaks in a low voice.

 

_Carol? Excuse me._ The apology is mostly directed at Daryl but he shakes his head, takes a step back. The woman he assumes is Michonne who does the paper work turns back to Carol. _Do you have a minute? Ed's on the phone._

 

The smile on Carol's face fades instantly, replaced by what he can only assume is fear. She looks almost as if somebody poured ice water over her head.

 

_Of course,_ she replies, kneading her hands in front of her. _Just a minute._ Michonne nods, quickly disappearing behind the door again, leaving it open just a crack.

 

Carol turns to him then, hiding her fear well. _Could you wait here?_ she asks, clearly bothered by having to leave him here.

 

_Sure._ He's not going to go anywhere. Not now that he dragged himself here.

 

Her smile is careful and fleeting. _Thank you,_ she breathes, and then she's gone.

 

 

 

The clock ticks on the wall. Again and again and again and he busies himself watching a small array of cacti on a shelf, all of them in the most curious sizes and shapes. He should probably get one of those, he thinks.

 

When he hears the door opening again, he turns around, heartbeat racing. Carol slowly closes the door behind herself, walks over to him, taking deep breaths.

 

_Y'all right?_ he asks when she's standing in front of him. There are no tears in her eyes but he can see her fight to keep them away. She's trembling. Frightful.

 

Whoever the guy on the phone is, he wants to hunt him down.

 

_Yes,_ she whispers, but once again he has a hard time believing her. This time, though, he holds back any further comments. Somehow, though, she seems go know what's looming on the tip of his tongue. _Really,_ she assures him, and his eyes widen when she reaches out to rest her hand on his forearm. Just briefly.

 

For a second, he's overcome by the familiar instinct to run, to protect himself. But the warmth and gentleness of her touch chases all that away.

 

All too quickly though, she lets go again.

 

_Now. How about one of these?_ she asks, pointing at a rather large cactus and despite the fact that he can still feel the echo of her touch, Daryl can't help but snort.

 

_Yeah, good plan._

 

* * *

 

He has barely set a foot into the shop when Carol comes rushing towards him with a big smile, but it falls the moment she looks down at his feet. _Where's Cleo?_ she asks, a disappointed frown on her face.

 

Daryl snorts, shivering as a gust of cold November air hits him just before the door falls shut behind him. _No hello?_ he asks, raising his brows. _Ya just care 'bout the dog, don't ya?_

 

The second the words come out - teasingly and with a smirk - he regrets them. Realizes what they imply and he wants to turn around and leave but his feet are glued to the floor.

 

Carol's eyes widen a little. _No,_ she insists, but then seems to realize what she said, her words making his stomach flip. She looks a little helpless for a moment before speaking again. _I mean-_ she starts, struggling to find the right words before she lifts up a small plastic bag in defeat. _I got her treats._

 

Maybe it's best to just ignore that awkward moment just now, Daryl thinks. Her thoughtfulness makes him smile and he lifts a paper bag of his own in response.

 

_Got some treats, too. Not the dog kind, though._

 

Her eyes light up and her lips part on a gasp when she recognizes the emblem on the bag. _Are those-_ she starts to ask, looking at him with a hopeful expression.

 

He nods. _Yes._

 

It had been a last minute decision to stop by the bakery and get some donuts. Just donuts this time. Last time, he ended up eating everything he got by himself and feeling like shit after. She's _here_ today though and looks more than ready to dig in.

 

_Oh God,_ she gasps and she has crossed the distance between them before he can blink, all but ripping the bag from his hands.

 

_Easy,_ he chuckles, following her when she heads back to the counter and waves for him to come along. She grins when she jumps up to sit on the edge of the workbench, unwrapping the bag and pulling out a donut with pink icing and sprinkles on top.

 

Daryl takes a step closer, enough to take the bag from her. He swallows deftly when her legs fall open a little and her knee presses into his thigh. That fleeting touch alone is enough to send a spark of heat through his veins and set his blood on fire.

 

His hands tremble where he holds the bag, and all appetite he had for the cream cheese filled donut he'd gotten for himself evaporates in an instant.

 

It doesn't help one bit when Carol takes a bite of the donut, eyes closed, humming in a way that makes him bite back a grunt.

 

_They're the best,_ she moans sinfully, a little bit of pink icing clinging to her plump bottom lip. His eyes are fixed on it, his throat dry. _Thank you._ She speaks it softly, only opening her eyes a second later.

 

Seeing him looking at _her_.

 

Everything in him screams at him to look away. To just eat his damn donut and be done with it. But he can't. It feels like a magnetic pull, something he can't explain when he sets the paper bag down on the bench next to Carol.

 

He can hear the hitch in her breath. Can see the way her own fingers tremble as they hold what's left of her donut.

 

He won't just kiss her. Can't. Even if he had the guts for it he wouldn't push her into it. But he does lean in a little further, feels the warmth of her breath against his lips.

 

Waits for her with a silent question lingering in the charged air between them.

 

She doesn't say a word. Instead, her eyes flutter shut, delicate long lashes against pale skin. Leaning in closer ever so slightly until her lips feather against his own.

 

He can't remember the last time he kissed someone. Knows he's never once _wanted_ to kiss anyone in his life. Whenever it happened, it was messy and rough and happened in a drunken haze. Teeth and tongue and the taste of tobacco and cheap booze.

 

This is a whole different world. Delicate and sweet, her lips so unbelievably soft against his own - chapped from the cold. It's barely a kiss. Lasts for just a second before they part.

 

But they remain close, no more than an inch between them and he shudders with a rush of affection when Carol nudges the tip of her nose against his.

 

Her eyes are still closed, lips parted as she takes a few breaths. He can still taste the sugary icing that he brushed off her lip.

 

_Daryl, I-_ she whispers, and the somber sound of her voice feels like a kick in the guts. Slowly, she opens her eyes, full of dread. _I'm-_

 

A heavy weight settles in the pit of his stomach. Something familiar. Rejection and disappointment and he doesn't care what reasons she's going to give him.

 

His hands had been hanging limply by his side but now his fingers curl into fists and he looks down at Carol's lap, struggling to sound normal and not like a pathetic idiot whose heart she's about to break.

 

If Merle could see him now he'd call him weak and he wouldn't be wrong.

 

_'m sorry,_ he mutters, suddenly desperate to get away again. But he can't. His legs won't cooperate and so he stands there with his head hanging low and tears biting his eyes.

 

Why would she want him like this? Why was he fool enough to believe for just a second that he had a chance with her? _We ain't- Know I'm not some-_

 

He never gets to finish his sorry attempt to explain away what just happened and the reassurance that it's all right if she's not interested. She makes sure of that.

 

From his periphery, he sees Carol tossing the remains of her donut to the side and then her hands are on his cheeks, framing his face and pulling up his head.

 

For a splint second, he gets to look into her clear, blur eyes and the wonder in them before she presses her lips to his and knocks the air right out of his lungs.

 

He grunts at the impact, her lips more insistent than they were before. Demanding in a way he didn't expect and it takes him a second to respond.

 

But when he does... _God._ He never knew he could feel like this. His hands find the delicate curve of her waist, holding her with gentle pressure as her lips move against his own in a way that makes his blood sing.

 

She smells of earth and flowers, sweet and fresh and her hands slide around his neck, an avalanche of goosebumps washing over him at the gentle touch.

 

He doesn't know what any of it means. But in this moment, he chooses not to dwell on that. All that matters is her and how soft she feels and how warm and sweet her breath is as it tickles his skin.

 

For a little while, he forgets all about the world around them. It's like they're trapped in a warm cocoon with nothing there to disturb it.

 

Everything is _her_ and he wishes he could part her legs and step between them to feel all of her pressed against him but he knows it's not right. They're overstepping a million lines as it is and he doesn't want to risk his good fortune. Doesn't want to initiate anything neither of them is ready for.

 

When they part eventually, it's with a whimper and a sigh, but Carol's hands remain locked loosely behinds his neck. Her fingers sift gently through the hair at the base of his scalp, and the warmth he felt before only intensifies, settling deep in his core and radiating through his body.

 

_Don't be sorry,_ she whispers breathlessly.

 

With a hum, he presses his forehead to hers, allowing his eyes to close and doing nothing but breathe in the moment.

 

What he feels, he thinks, is actual happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the wait - I did actually have time to write but my muse decided to take some time off. Very frustrating. I do hope this chapter was worth it. There will be one more after this.
> 
> And here you go, [meet Cleo](https://imgur.com/6b6LLeO) :)


	4. part four

His hands are sweaty when he returns to the shop three days later. He'd thought about coming back the next day, but that had seemed a little desperate – even to him. After all, he's not sure where they stand. They never got a chance to talk about what happened after a group of teenage girls all but stormed the shop, demanding all of Carol's attention.

 

He'd left with a smile directed at her, one that she returned.

 

But today, she's not here.

 

A young woman with blond, braided hair stands behind the counter, greeting him politely but shyly and he excuses himself without buying anything.

 

 

 

She's not there a few days later, either. A week after the kiss. The girl is back, and this time he buys a bouquet just to not seem like a complete asshole.

 

He puts it in the only vase he owns in the middle of the kitchen table he never uses.

 

They wilt quickly, petals fluttering down, forming a sad circle on the worn wood.

 

 

 

When she's not back the week after that, either, he feels sick. Standing in the middle of the store with a heavy feeling deep in his guts and Cleo sitting by his feet.

 

_May I help you?_ Mrs Greene asks politely, wearing that same familiar kind smile. He knows he should just leave. Ask for some goddamn flowers but he can't. The words won't come out and so he clears his throat.

 

_Eh- yeah,_ he mutters. Trying to bite back his next words because it's not right to ask, because he _has_ no right. But he needs to know that she's okay. That she's not hurt. Or gone. It only occurs to him now that he has no means at all of contacting her. Of finding her again. He doesn't even know her last name. _Is Carol gonna be in today?_ he asks with a dry voice that falters halfway through the question.

 

Mrs Greene's brows crease ever so slightly in concern. _Carol?_ He nods, but he can't look at the woman any longer. Just stares down at his boots, Cleo's tail drapes over them. _No, she won't be in for a while._

 

_She all right?_ The question comes out embarrassingly quickly and he knows Mrs Greene doesn't really trust him. Nobody ever does. Except Carol. Or so he thought.

 

But Mrs Greene is nothing if not kind and so she offers him a weak smile. _Yes,_ she assures him. _She'll be back eventually._ He feels like a weight is lifted off his shoulders, but that lightness barely lasts a second before his mind spins with question after question. Why is she gone? Where is she? Is she sick? Is she in trouble?

 

But he can't ask any of those questions. Not if he wants to keep Carol out of trouble.

 

_Is there anything in particular you'd like?_ Mrs Greene asks then, nodding vaguely at the various displays of flowers and plants, gently reminding him that she has things to do and he is wasting her time.

 

_'m fine,_ he mutters with a shake of his head, already turning towards the door. _Thanks._ Cleo follows him with a little yelp, excited and oblivious.

 

One hand already on the door handle, Daryl lingers. Full of remorse, he turns back towards Mrs Greene who is watching him intently. _Sorry,_ he says, not waiting for her reply before heading outside into the cold November afternoon.

 

* * *

 

He doesn't go back to the shop for another week. Doesn't want to draw too much attention on himself and seem like a creep. Knowing his luck, someone's going to end up calling the cops on him.

 

What he doesn't allow himself to think about too much is the fact that he can't stand being kept in the dark. Not knowing what's going on with Carol. He can't face the pain of not seeing her.

 

But when he does come back, and she's there, it's like all the pain has vanished. The bell rings above his head and Cleo tugs on her leash when she spots Carol, insistently pulling him across the shop towards the counter where Carol is cleaning up.

 

Carol smiles widely, kneeling down to greet Cleo – all wiggling tail and sloppy tongue. Daryl just watches, trying to control the flutter in his stomach and the pounding of his heart, sending a flush of heat to his cheeks.

 

When Carol does look up at him, he can't hold back a shy smile. _You're back,_ he murmurs, not quite believing that he got this lucky.

 

Carol nods, her features gentle and soft as she stands back up. She's close, right in his space, and he hesitates for a moment before deciding to be brave and leaning in just a fraction.

 

_Daryl,_ she breathes, her hand coming out to rest against his chest. _Not now- Michonne is here,_ she explains and he understands. Doesn't want her to get in trouble and so he nods and pulls back.

 

But it's not the back door that Carol is eying with nervous concern. It's the front door behind him and his brows crease for a moment before she speaks again. _I'm sorry I disappeared._ She sounds genuine but speaks the words with a light chuckle, dropping her hand from his chest.

 

He can still feel the warmth of her touch that has soaked through his shirt.

 

_Was worried,_ he confesses, fingers fidgeting around the leash he's holding. _Asked about ya._

 

Carol's eyes widen a little. _You did?_

 

It's easy to see that he made the wrong call, and he immediately feels like a complete son of a bitch for once again assuming he has any rights here at all. A claim or some shit like that. Ducking his head, he mumbles a weak _sorry_ under his breath.

 

If Carol is truly upset with him then it either doesn't last long or she's exceptionally gifted at hiding it.

 

_It's okay,_ she says softly, and he sucks in a sharp breath when her fingers briefly ghost over his wrist. _How's Cleo doing?_ She inquires then, changing the subject as quickly as she drops her hand. All her attention back on the dog who accepts it with an excited yelp.

 

_She's fine,_ Daryl grunts, feeling a little lost and confused in the wake of all this. He spent over two weeks trying to imagine what would happen should he see her again (just as much as he tried to imagine living his life never seeing her again, never knowing what happened to her). He'd made so many plans. So many decisions. And now, all he can do is stand here like an idiot, watching her fawn over his dog. _'m leaving 'er at the shop more now. She's suckin' up to the guys._

 

Carol smirks, ruffling the soft fur behind Cleo's ears. _I bet she is._

 

They're quiet for a moment, nothing but the tick of the clock and the faint bustle of people passing outside filling the room. He allows his eyes to roam, if only to stop himself from staring at Carol like a starved man. There's a wagon load of flower arrangements, some of them finished, some of them not, on the workbench.

 

_Looks busy,_ he points out, nodding towards the mess.

 

_Wedding,_ Carol explains with a sigh, straightening her shoulders and leaning against the counter. _Mrs Greene usually helps with that but her daughter's getting married this weekend, too. So it's on me._

 

She looks tired and exhausted and he wishes he could do something to change that. To see that light flush on her cheeks like he did after they kissed. The plumpness of her lips. The shimmer in her eyes.

 

Fuck.

 

All his thoughts are consumed by her and have been since he last saw her and all he needs are some answers. Answers to questions he's not brave enough to even ask.

 

_Want some help?_ he offers half-seriously instead, mouth curling into a half-smile.

 

Carol laughs softly, raising her eyebrows and prompting a proper smile from him when she nudges her elbow into his ribs.

 

 

 

In the end, he watches her put the succulents and flowers together with practiced ease, Cleo curled up on the floor, paws twitching as she's lost in a dream.

 

* * *

 

God, she looks so goddamn beautiful. Her lips tinted pink, her skin glowing, hair twinkling with the autumn sunlight falling in rays upon it.

 

When she sees him, a smile lights up her face, wide and pure and he walks over towards her behind the counter like she's a magnet pulling him in.

 

_Hey,_ she breathes, and then she's right there in his space. Her fingers curl lightly into his vest, her nose nudging his before she ghosts her lips over his in the barest kiss.

 

A far cry from last week. Suddenly so tender, like they picked up right where they left off that day. He doesn't get the chance to really kiss her back before she pulls away. Just a little. Her hands finding his.

 

_Hey,_ he rasps, glad that his jacket is hiding the goosebumps that are breaking out all over his skin when she draws her thumbs over the pulse point in his wrists.

 

Carol takes a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut. _You smell good,_ she murmurs, leaning in a little closer.

 

_Ya saying I usually stink?_ he snorts, no idea what should be different today. Most likely, he reeks of motor oil and gas. Not exactly inviting, he assumes, but Carol seems to enjoy it.

 

_No,_ she whispers lowly, and then his eyes damn well nearly pop out of his skull when she nuzzles her nose into his neck. His hands fall away from her own to grasp her hips, her name a choked sound on his lips when she presses her lips to his suddenly overheated skin.

 

Something snaps in him then, something that has laid dormant for far too long and before he really knows what he's doing he's kissing her again, urgent and demanding as his thumbs dig into her hips.

 

She responds in kind, all warm lips and sweet tongue but then she pulls away with a gasp. _We shouldn't- not here,_ she warns, shaking her head a little as if that will make the deep red flush high on her cheeks disappear. It trails all the way down her neck, disappearing underneath the hemline of her shirt and he can't help but follow the trail. She notices, her eyes darkening when they meet his. _Someone could see._

 

The hoarseness in her voice sends a spark of heat down into his core, but she's right. Reluctantly, he drops his hands, fingers balling into fists against his thighs. _All right,_ he agrees with a nod. Inside, he feels like he's still drowning in her, hungry for her. Aching in a way he has never known.

 

Carol doesn't seem much better, the desire he feels pulsing in his veins reflected in her eyes. _I'm here by myself on Thursday,_ she tells him, just a whisper. _Can you come over at seven?_

 

Is first instinct is to blurt out a yes. But then a faint memory hits him out of the blue, the sign on the door that he has seen so many times now flickering through his mind. _Ain't that-_

 

_Closing time?_ Carol finishes for him, making a small pause that's filled with so much tension he's pretty sure he's close to having a stroke. _Yes._

 

 

 

Thursday can't come fast enough.

 

He doesn't really know what to expect. Has no clue if he needs to be worried or nervous. He shaves. Takes a shower. Runs a comb through his hair. Briefly, he considers grabbing a box of condoms from the drug store but he decides against it. Doesn't want to be an insensitive jerk who only wants to get into her pants.

 

He ain't ready for that, anyway.

 

Five minutes before seven, he rushes into the store, the sky dark with an impending thunder storm. Cleo follows him with a tucked in tail, a real wimp when it comes to the weather. The second he makes it through the door the first droplets of rain begin to drum against the large windows.

 

_Had to bring 'er,_ he says a little breathlessly when Carol closes the door behind him, locking it for the day. She's still a bit too young to be left home alone, and with the weather report predicting the storm tonight, he wasn't going to leave her behind.

 

Carol doesn't seem the least bit upset, kneeling down to gently run her fingers trough Cleo's fur. _I don't mind._ Cleo nuzzles into her touch and yet remains nestled up against Daryl’s leg. Eventually, Carol leaves her be and stands up.

 

He wants to kiss her. But he doesn't know if she wants him to this time.

 

In the end, Carol makes the decision for him, breaching the distance and pressing her lips to his. Light, at first. Tasting summery sweet even as the autumn storm begins to rage outside. As the rain drums heavily against the window, he deepens the kiss, traces the seam of her lips with his tongue until she grants him entrance. As the wind howls, he wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her close.

 

She pulls away then, quick and with a whimper. _Daryl-_

 

_Sorry,_ he mutters, cursing himself for being such a brute. _Been a long time._

 

Carol huffs softly, kneading her hands in front of her stomach. _It's okay. Just... Maybe we should slow down._ She looks almost afraid of him. Like he expects anything from her and would lash out should she decline.

 

That ain't him and he feels sick and disappointed that she might think of him that way.

 

_Course,_ he mutters, trying to smile and reassure her that he's fine taking things slow. Hell, it's all moving too fast for him to comprehend as it is.

 

They're lost in silence for a moment, neither of them really sure how to continue from here and he decides to take a chance. _You-eh... ya wanna go grab dinner?_ he stammers. Never once in his life has he asked someone out and the fear of rejection that's rooted so deeply inside of him perks its ugly head the second the words leave his mouth.

 

Sadness flickers over Carol's face. _I'd love to. But I can't,_ she sighs. _I have- I have plans._

 

His forehead creases in confusion. Why did she ask him here then if she has plans? More and more, he starts to wonder what it is that she wants. It's a mystery to him, and he's not sure he's the right person to play this game with.

 

She seems to understand what he's thinking, taking a quick step forward and curling her hand around his neck. Fingers sifting through his hair. _But I have some time. If you want to stay,_ she adds, her free hand finding his heart, finger splaying there. _I need to close up._

 

A part of him wants to tell her no. But even the prospect of another thirty minutes with her tastes sugar sweet and he can't deny her a thing. _Sure._

 

 

 

He comes back the next Thursday. And the one after that. Watches her close up the shop. Answers her questions about how his day went and what kind of movies he likes and what his favorite food is. Steals a kiss here and there.

 

But he's not an idiot.

 

She never suggests they meet somewhere else. Avoids question he has about her. He knows something isn't right but he's not ready to burst this bubble they're in. Warm and sweet and more like a dream than any that has ever haunted him at night.

 

It's early December when he can't hold back the question any longer.

 

_Tell me 'bout ya,_ he says, sitting on the edge of the workbench as Carol gathers up some tools. It's dark outside already, the fairy lights strung up in front of the shop swaying in the wind.

 

Carol's brows crease and she looks at him with a confused expression. _Why?_

 

He shrugs, handing her some ribbon that she can't reach. _We only ever talk 'bout me,_ he points out as Carol hides most of the things she's holding in a drawer. The rest, she hangs up on a few iron hooks on the wall, moving purposefully slow to avoid looking at him.

 

_There's nothing exciting to talk about, really,_ she explains, and he almost laughs because if they're going by excitement then he has set the bar pretty low. He's about to say that and tell her he'd just like to get to know her better when her hand curls around his on the workbench and she's leaning up to kiss him.

 

It's a distraction and he's not fool enough to not recognize it as that. But _god_ , she is so soft and tastes so sweet when she kisses him like this. His mind is wiped clean and all that matters is the way her lips meld into his. His hands come up to cradle her head, the curls of her hair silky against his calloused palm.

 

When he pulls away, she chases after him to steal another kiss, eyes still closed.

 

_Ya got plans tonight?_ he asks, despite already knowing the answer.

 

_I do, I'm sorry._

 

* * *

 

Christmas lights guide his way as he hurries through town. It's cold, the smell of snow in the air. Clear and freezing.

 

It's already a little past seven when he steps into the shop, instantly welcomed by comforting warmth. _Sorry, 'm late,_ he grunts as he shuts the door behind himself to keep out the cold. _Some asshole wouldn't-_ He stops in his tracks when he sees her. Standing by the counter, her arms wrapped around her middle. Looking away from him. But he can see enough.

 

_What happened?_ he asks hurriedly, rushing over towards her.

 

But she turns her head away, sighing. _It's nothing._

 

_Ain't nothin',_ he insists, feeling sick and angry and having to hold it all back. She's pale. Pale enough for him to see the bruise that's tinting her jaw. Her lip is split. Swollen. Blood crusted on the soft skin. _Y'all right?_ he asks with a much softer voice. It's a stupid question because she clearly isn't. But he needs to know.

 

_Daryl,_ she whimpers, shaking her head vigorously. _Please. Don't._ There are tears in her eyes, threatening to spill over and his heart fills with a heavy sadness.

 

_Come 'ere,_ he murmurs, and she falls willingly into his embrace. Wrapping his arms around her, he holds her close. Feels her chest rising with every ragged breath and her fingers digging almost painfully into his arms as she holds on to him. He hums soothingly, tucks her head underneath his chin.

 

But she pulls back. Looks ashamed in a way he knows and understand all too well. Slowly, mindful not to frighten her, her cradles her cheek in his palm. Just a hovering touch, careful not to apply too much pressure and cause her pain.

 

Her eyelids flutter shut and she leans into the touch. Encouraging him. He leans in, pressing a feather light kiss to her forehead. Her temple. Her nose. Her cheek. The corner of her mouth. Her bruised jaw. It's chaste and gentle, his hands ghosting up and down her back.

 

It's Carol who takes the next step. Who cranes her neck and pulls his head down until his lips graze the skin behind her ear. Her hair tickling his skin. She whimpers low in her throat, making it hard for him to keep his head clear.

 

But that doesn't seem to be what she wants. Her arms wrap around his shoulders until she's fisting his jacket in her hands, pulling him closer. Flush against her – soft curves and warm skin. Her head tilts to the side. And when he kisses her properly, sucks the delicate skin of her throat between his lips for a second, she seems to fall in his arms.

 

_Please,_ she moans, tugging until her hand slips under his jacket – hot against his lower back. He tenses for a moment, afraid of her hand moving further up but she never does. Keeps a steady pressure there as she tilts her hips into his.

 

He can't take the friction. Grunts into the crook of her neck and grabs her hips tighter than he meant to. Taking a step forward, and another until she bumps into the counter.

 

This is wrong. Too fast, too soon and for all the wrong reasons but _fuck_ she feels good when he lifts her up onto the counter and stands between her open legs, trailing open-mouthed kisses down her neck and up again, nuzzling against her jaw.

 

She's bucking into him, needy and breathless. One hand finding his and moving it up until his thumb grazes the swell of her breast.

 

_Fuck,_ he hisses, trying to keep his hips still as he starts to feel himself harden. He needs to slow this down. But instead, he lets her rock herself against him, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Instead of pulling away, he presses his forehead to her collarbone and cups the weight of her breast in his palm.

 

His head spins. Imagining what it would feel like to taste more of her skin. To feel her bare in his arms, tight around him. Falling apart with his name on her lips.

 

Then, suddenly, she pushes against his chest. _Daryl, stop._

 

He pulls back instantly, ignoring the throbbing in his veins and the cold that's left behind in the absence of her. _I hurt ya?_ He wants to reach out and touch her, make sure she's fine, but then he freezes.

 

_No,_ she whispers. Thick tears rolling down her cheeks as a sad smile curls her face in an absurd and obscure way that makes him shudder. _No, you didn't._

 

_What's the matter?_ he croaks, desperate and lost.

 

She struggles to breathe through her tears, and so he gives her time. Waits for her to calm down. But the tears don't stop trailing down her cheeks. _I can't,_ she finally whispers, her words like ice. _This._ She waves her hand between them, eyes cast downwards. _I can't. You deserve- Daryl,_ she whimpers, so much sorrow in her eyes that even he can feel the tears prickling in his eyes.

 

What she says next nearly knocks him off his feet. _I'm married,_ she confesses, her voice cold and lifeless and her eyes dazed. _I have a daughter._

 

_What?_

 

He knew something was wrong. Somewhere, deep down, he might have even considered this. But he never allowed the thought to truly form in his mind and now he finds himself here. Standing among the debris of something that was never truly real. A facade. Just a play.

 

_I'm married,_ she repeats. His eyes flicker down to her hand that's curled around the edge of the bench. There's no ring there. He's never seen her wear one before. She notices, tucks her hand into the pocket of her apron with a sad smile. Pulling out a simple, golden ring. _I take it off for work. It get's dirty otherwise,_ she explains. _I'm so sorry._

 

He doesn't want to hear it. He's mad at her, anger raging down into the very marrow of his bones because she kept him in the dark. Because she let him believe – even if just for a few sweet, short hours at a time - that this was real. That they could _be_ something. Something more than a lie, a dirty secret.

 

He wants to tell her all this. Shout and yell and slam his damn fists into the brick wall until his knuckles bleed.

 

But he doesn't. He can't. Because he understands. At least a little.

 

_He do this to ya?_ he asks, nodding at her split lip, voice faltering as he bites back his own tears. If her husband hit her, if he's a bastard like his father was-

 

_Daryl,_ she breathes, shaking her head. _Please._

 

Against his better judgment, Daryl takes a step closer. Close enough for her knees to graze his hips again. _Tell me,_ he pleads, anger replaced with fear. _He hurtin' ya?_

 

She's quiet. Looks down at her lap and sucks in a sharp breath. _Please go._

 

Her voice feels like knifes. They hurt worse than any lash of a belt ever did. _Carol-_

 

_I should have told you,_ she interrupts him, finally looking up. Still so beautiful. But he can see the cracks in her porcelain mask now. The ones that cover up all the horrors she must endure. He knows the look in her eyes. Knows it too well to just let her go. _I don't know what I was thinking. I can't- we can't._ She shudders visibly, and he can almost feel the same wave of cold that she does. _So, please._

 

He wants to help. Wants to save her from the same fate he endured. His mother endured. Shit, she even said she had a kid. _Why didn't ya tell me before?_ he asks. If she had, he could have- Would he have helped if he hadn't known _this_? Or would he have yelled at her? All those ugly thoughts that are still spinning in his mind.

 

_Because I didn't want to hurt you,_ she whispers, and he freezes when her hand reaches out to take his. A light touch. A goodbye. _Because I was- I was happy. With you._ Her last words are so quiet that he can barely hear them, spoken on a parting gasp as her hand falls away.

 

_Carol, if he's-_ he tries one last time, one desperate attempt to help her. To offer her a chance to truly make this real.

 

But she's not allowing it.

 

_Don't,_ she says harshly but with no malice in her voice. Just exhaustion and grief. _He can't find out. I can't-_ One last time, she looks at him. Truly looks at him. And then he can see her fading, slipping away from him. _Just go._

 

He does. Heads out into the cold. Walks past the Christmas lights. Ignores the first snow that's dancing in the yellow glow of the streetlamps.

 

Never once did he think he had much in life. And he never expected to lose so much.

 

* * *

 

**three years later.**

 

The air smells like greasy food, sugar and fireworks that some idiots down the street have fired up already even though it's barely afternoon. Daryl drowns it all with his cigarette, taking a deep breath and letting the smoke fill his lungs.

 

He should really start thinking about quitting, he thinks as he coughs. Maybe he's getting too old for this shit. Then again, he's done this shit for so long, what's it matter now?

 

He doesn't feel any younger as he watches the Grimes kid on the swing with some girl. Carl is annoyingly chatty sometimes, overexcited and always asking too many questions. The girl seems more quiet. They're squeezed onto the swing together, hanging from one of the large trees.

 

She's wearing a blue shirt and her blonde hair in pig tails. There's a sadness to her that looks misplaced in a child.

 

_Do you think you'll have two birthdays and two Christmases and two of everything now?_ Carl asks, swinging his legs back and forth over where the grass has long given away to earth to keep them moving.

 

The girl shrugs. _Maybe._

 

_That would be so cool!_ Carl exclaims and the girl smiles. But there's no humor behind it.

 

Damn kids these days, Daryl thinks, tossing his cigarette onto the ground and stomping on it with his boot. He decides to stay out here for a little while longer to let the scent of smoke dissipate a little, else he'll face Lori's wrath when he goes back inside.

 

Even now that he's here he's not sure how great of an idea it was to accept Rick and Lori's invitation. He likes them. Oddly enough. Went to school with Rick but never talked to him back then – in his case, that was a good thing, though. When people talked to him back then, it was usually something nasty.

 

Rick's a decent guy and when he brought his truck over to the shop last year and recognized Daryl, conversation had been surprisingly easy. Daryl isn't ready to call him a friend. Then again, maybe he should just accept that that's what they are.

 

But it's one thing to go fishing with Rick or come over for dinner and a whole different thing to join them for their 4th of July party. The house is filled to the brim with people he doesn't know and, much worse, people he does know from so long ago.

 

Rick had assured him that the dust had settled, but still he felt more like he was trapped in a cage inside the house than he did in a long time.

 

It's rude to stay away for too long, though. Even he knows that.

 

Maybe he'll excuse himself early. Cleo hates the fireworks and as happy as she is right now chasing the Grimes' dog through the yard, she'll be upset and frightened later. A perfect reason for him to head home. Maybe take some leftovers with him, curl up on the porch and watch the fireworks from there.

 

Yeah, that's what he'll do.

 

_Hey, Daryl._ Rick calls him from the porch, a bottle of beer in his hand. _There you are. Come on, there's some people I want you to meet._

 

Daryl groans, not at all interested at being introduced to every damn person at this party. Reluctantly, he marches up the porch, pristinely white now that it's been given a fresh coat of paint. _Man, y'ain't gotta-_ he starts, but Rick won't have it. He all but drags him back inside and into the house.

 

For the next twenty minutes, Daryl feels like he's being shown off at an auction. Rick makes a point not to mention his last name, tells people about how they went to school together, that he took over the shop for Dale. Safe topics. Everyone is nice enough. Polite. But it's draining and Daryl wishes he could make a beeline for the buffet and grab an ice-cold bottle of beer and some fries.

 

He knows Rick means well. That he thinks he's lonely. And hell, he probably is. But it's the way it's been all his life, and he's at a much better place now than he was a few years ago. So, while he's not mad at Rick for meddling, for dragging him to restaurants and inviting him on fishing trip with _the guys_ , it's not at all appreciated.

 

He's about to tell Rick he needs to piss just to get away when he hauls him over to a group of women by the couch. They're all holding glasses of that peach wine that Lori tried to force down his throat earlier, chatting and smiling.

 

_These are some of Lori's friends,_ Rick explains. _Andrea, Jacqui, Carol and Maggie. This is Daryl, we went to school together. He just moved back here a few years ago._

 

Rick continues to talk but Daryl has stopped listening to him. Instead, he's staring at Carol like he's never seen her before.

 

And maybe, in a way, he hasn't.

 

She looks different. Better. Her curves rounder, her cheeks fuller. Her hair has gotten longer, curling delicately around her chin. Her skin is sun-kissed and glowing beneath the blue dress she's wearing. Even more beautiful than he remembers – but he has tried hard not to think about her too much these last few years.

 

He never saw her again after storming out of the shop that night just a few days before Christmas. Never ran into her. Never came back.

 

Sometimes, in the dead of night, he had wondered what happened to her.

 

He never expected to see her again.

 

She seems just as surprised as he is, blue eyes away wide and lips parted. He can faintly hear Rick talking. But it all narrows down to _her_.

 

Then, just lightly, the surprise fades from her expression.

 

And she smiles at him instead.

 

_the end._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go. I hope the ending was endurable for you - my original plan was a lot angstier than this, but I didn't want to do that to you guys. But I also didn't want to make it a fluffy happy ending because that would have been so different from my original vision of the story.
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments :)

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a prompt I got on Tumblr for a Caryl flower shop AU. It was originally meant to be a two-part story, but when I started writing it it became clear it would be a bit longer than that. I'm estimating around 4-5 chapters. Again, updates might be a little slow because work is busy and I'm working on getting some more prompts done.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this :)


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